Playing A Dangerous Game
by insanemoriarty
Summary: The smutty rendezvous of Jim Moriarty and his secretary one evening.


She checked the time on the glowing iMac screen in front of her. It read _4:48_, which meant he was bound to get back incredibly soon.

Other than the computer screen, there was barely any other artificial light in the place. Only dimmed lighting overhead cast shadows across the plush white carpeting. The dark grey walls did not aid in the spread of luminosity. Nor did the waiting area's glass side tables, black sofas and chairs, and finally and most importantly, glass desk and lightly padded swivel chair next to the large wall of clear glass that separated the flies from the spider himself. The dark contemporary room was representative of the work that went on here: not only sinister, but modern too, so that there was no way you could escape its shadowy sense of foreboding.

But she was far too used to it at this point to feel any negativity in the room. In fact, her eyes had adjusted so much so that she found herself hardly ever turning the lights on in her own home. Then again, she found that she was hardly home. It was the downside to having such a demanding boss.

_4:52_. A beep resounded from the iPhone next to her keyboard reading, _6 minutes_ from his driver who was bound to be on his back now.

The chair went rolling back as she stood up with a start. He was running two minutes early, and that made all the difference.

The heels of her Louboutins clicked loudly as the only audible sound coming from the entire floor of the building as she speed walked through the hallways to the tiny kitchen beyond. She filled a kettle with water and placed it on high heat, watching the thermometer gauge on it for two minutes until it reached a precise temperature. The next step was waiting exactly three minutes for the black tea to diffuse before measuring out milk and sugar and adding the tea to a fine china teacup. It was all a delicate process, but she knew if there was even a slight change to his evening tea, the cup would be shattered against a wall and she would have to spend two hours searching for _just_ the right replacement teacup set.

She hurriedly returned to his glass desk, being careful that not even a drop of tea spilled over onto the saucer beneath it. The window wall behind the desk showed that the sun was beginning to set, which was the exact time of day her boss would sit here and handle the accounts. She arranged a short stack of papers on his desk just in time to hear footsteps in the hall. The glass door opened as she straightened up next to his desk, hands clasped behind her back like an obedient soldier.

"Roberts is dealt with; you can take him off the list and transfer his funds to my account. Call Richards and tell him to have the forged papers by tomorrow or he'll have real death certificates on his hands. And find me three more snipers that _aren't_ as fragile as the ones you got me last time," he listed off in a bored monotonous tone as he walked straight past her to his armchair without so much as a glance.

"Yes, sir," she replied, happy to have been practically invisible in his office at that moment. James Moriarty was not an easy man to call boss. There were many instances in which he downright terrified her. She would never forget her first month of working with him, watching limbs being broken left and right, having to find the proper places to take her dry cleaning without their questioning the amount of bloodstains on her clothes, the pleas of men and women ringing through her nightmares…

But she was used to that now. She had grown tougher, but that didn't prevent her from erring on the side of caution when it came to Mr. Moriarty. He may have been a handsome, soft-spoken, charming man when he wanted to be, but it was frightening how fast his mood could turn and those chocolate eyes blacked out to a vacant abyss. He was unpredictable so she kept her distance.

She repeated his directions in her head as she began walking out when she heard a sharp, "_Wait_," come from behind her.

Chills rushed from the small of her back all the way up to her neck when she heard the iciness in his voice. She suppressed a shiver and spun on her heel to face him.

His eyes had begun scanning her, from the red soles of her heel upward. She could almost feel his gaze brushing against the smooth skin of her calves, resting for a millisecond at the hem of her skirt dangerously high upon her thigh, and then continuing upward along the outline of her hips. He followed the sharp contours of her blazer, clinched at the waist with a broad belt, once more resting briefly at the unusually low neckline of her white blouse barely visible atop the coat's collar. Finally he rested upon her face and drank in the specifics: how her lips were painted the same red as the sole of her shoes, how her bone structure seemed sharper than normal, most likely due to makeup, how her winged eyeliner seemed thicker and longer than her usual wear.

His eyebrows twitched, and she could have sworn, just for a brief second, that she saw a curious expression in his demeanor. But just as quickly as it had come, it passed, and he waved his hand away at her with a, "Never mind."

She forced a smile and nod as she finished her trek out the door. She didn't know what to expect at that moment, but the fact that he knew that she was different tonight showed his observational skills well. It was true she didn't usually dress this provocatively. Usually a pantsuit or a business-casual skirt and blazer were her usual attire. But tonight was different. She had had a date for the first time since beginning this job and she was dressed to impress. The black Armani skirt suit was specifically tailored to hug her curves just perfectly, and they did her body an immense justice. She had, after all, used Jim's own tailor.

She finished whatever assignments Jim messaged to her for the next hour or so. The next time she checked her watch, it almost read 6, and she had to meet her gentleman friend in less than half an hour. She shut down her computer and walked over to the boss's door. "I was just about to head out. Can I get you anything?" she called in.

Once more, his eyes lingered upon her form, which she found eerie, as this had probably been the most amount of time he had actually spent in one day looking at her. "I need you to work late tonight," was his curt reply as he returned to the paperwork in front of him.

"But I have a-" She stopped her sentence short when he snapped his head up at her in a dangerous fashion. "I…just have to make a quick phone call," she finished.

She made sure she was out of his earshot before letting out a disappointed sigh. She picked up the phone her desk and dialed his number. After a short exchange with the frustrated man who she knew would never agree for another date after this, she hung up and returned to the room which was now so dark, the only source of light was the dim moonlight and streetlamps from several stories below. She found her boss with his back to her, looking outward at the city below. She noticed he had discarded his suit coat on his chair and his button-down shirt remained untucked. When he turned around, he revealed a further casual alteration to his appearance with a tie that hung loosely around his neck and the top few buttons having been released.

She suppressed the desire the tiny bit of skin and casual attire aroused in her. Her boss was to stay off-limits. If other office romances ended badly by someone getting fired or broken-hearted, she couldn't even begin to imagine how this would have ended. Besides, she couldn't even conceive how Jim Moriarty would be as a lover.

"I certainly hope I'm not troubling you _too_ much," he began lightly as he walked over to a side table and began pouring scotch into two glasses. He walked back over to his desk and placed one of the glasses on the desk.

She walked over to it and picked the glass up. "Not at all," she lied, taking the tiniest of sips. Single-malt, expensive, and he had managed to fill half her glass. She had no idea what was going through his head but this game was starting to scare her. He wanted Jim to go back to ignoring her like he used to. Attention from him was either _really_ good or _really_ bad; there was no in between.

"Now, now. No need to lie to me," he mused as he leaned up against the desk right in front of her. He wrapped his fingers around the ones she used to hold her glass and pushed it toward her, as if to say _drink_, to which she happily obliged. She was surprised by the smoothness of his fingers. She expected them to be a lot rougher considering his line of work. Then again, it's not like he himself did any of the dirty work.

"I was never one for first dates. Too much small talk, not enough action. Boring, boring, boring," he drawled on. She wasn't shocked at all that he had deduced her plans of going on a date tonight. What she was confused about however was why she was forced to cancel.

"I take it you're more of an action type," she said, feeling the alcohol hit her like sports car on a highway. Her stomach was empty since she was forced to skip dinner for whatever reason, and she didn't find much time to drink these days, so her tolerance was lower than it had ever been. She set the glass black down on the table to make sure she kept whatever senses she still had.

Her reply was met with a devilish smile. He stepped closer to her, turning his body so that he was practically pinning her backside to the desk with his hips. His hands moved along her sides, starting from her mid-thigh and going higher until they rested upon her hips. The tip of his thumb brushed along the zipper of her tight-fitting skirt and she couldn't help but take a sharp intake of breath.

"I find action to be a lot more…_satisfying_," he said in a low voice. His mouth moved closer to hers, just enough to be able to feel her hitched breath on his lips. "Don't you?"

Her eyes slowly scanned his face, never having been even thrice this distance to her boss before. "Some action with my boss? A little cliché, no?" she teasingly asked. Forget her date – this was far more entertaining. Teasing Jim Moriarty after a long day was a dangerous game, but after working for him for three years, danger was just a part of her life that she couldn't do without anymore.

He raised his eyebrows, clearly affronted and almost taken aback by the comment. He recovered his cool, confident composure a second later and leaned to her side, letting his cold hand slide to her inner thigh. He squeezed lightly and ran his smooth fingers slowly upward.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her grip on the glass table behind her tightened as his fingers surpassed the hem of her skirt.

She was snapped out of the reverie of his touch when she felt cold leather upon one of her wrists. Her hazy state of mind prevented her from reacting more quickly. She realized a little too late that while he had been distracting her, he was also reaching for the black leather belt he had previous discarded and was binding the tough cord around one of her wrists. He pulled her away from the desk to grab her other wrist and bind it with the first behind her back. When he was done, she found her back pressed firmly to his chest, his hands pulling on the belt violently.

"Oh sweetheart, you'll find I'm far from cliché," he growled into her ear before bending her over his desk.

She let out a shaky moan before she found half of her face pressed against the cold glass. Her wrist already started to ache with the bite of the leather and Jim pulling on the strap didn't help either. She would have adjusted her position if it weren't for the deadly way in which he uttered, "_Stay_," at her right then. The fierce command not only forced her to stay put, but she couldn't help but feel a pang of hunger for him course through her body.

His fingers moved along the side of her skirt once more, feeling the texture upon the smooth skin underneath. He saw many options before him. One was to violently remove the article of clothing from her body, either to rip it apart or cut it off. Another was to roll the fabric up to her waist, essentially risking a tear or stretching the expensive cloth. He chose the third and final option: carefully unzipping the garment and letting it drop to her feet. He was, in fact, a sucker for well-tailored apparel. This left nothing but a lacy black thong covering her lower half.

He stepped back and admired the view: a voluptuous smooth bottom that was just waiting for his rough touch. And he did not want to disappoint.

His fingers briefly massaged the comely skin before one of his hands ventured in between the crevices of her womanly shape. His fingers hovered before her most sensitively area before deftly applying pressure and rubbing on it through the lacy patterns of her undergarments.

She couldn't help but release a high-pitched moan, showing that she couldn't control her body's natural instincts, but she was sure that the moistness of the area gave that away pretty easily enough. He skillfully pushed the fabric aside with one finger as another one explored her private regions. "Oh…Jim…" she whimpered into the unforgiving glass as he pushed one finger into her.

Not even a second later, she felt a painful lash against her backside, earning a whimper of a different nature. "That's _Mr. Moriarty_ to you," he snarled, glancing at the large red shape his hand had made upon her pale skin, feeling slightly satisfied. He suppressed the urge to make many, many more shapes like that all over her body and instead focused on releasing himself from the binds of his trousers. He let it all fall to the floor, undergarments and all, leaving his own gun cocked tightly against her skin.

"Mr. Moriarty…_please_…" she mewled, pushing out her bottom to welcome his rigid member to her own warm body.

It was a most satisfying feeling, to hear this empowered, independent woman begging to have him. It made him almost want to go easy on her. _Almost_.

He grabbed a letter opener from his desk and cut apart a thin piece of fabric, allowing her torn lace panties to keep his own boxer briefs company on the floor. After throwing the now-useless instrument aside, he used the belt strap to pull her up to his height. "Still too cliché for you?"

She let out a short breathy laugh. "Still cliché," was her curt response.

He reached to her front and took her jaw in his hand, tilting it to the side so that their lips were barely an inch apart. "You know, I could snap your neck right now."

"Who would sort your mail then?" she smugly jested.

He smirked in response and pushed his lips to hers for the first time for the briefest instant before slamming his entirety into her in one push.

She found herself pulling away from the lustful kiss to cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He noticed her trying to pull away from her binds, most likely to run her fingers through his hair or along his thighs or some sort of nonsense like that. He needed to make sure she understood his aversion to those types of touches so he assertively pushed her face down upon the glass once more, pulling on her binds so they dug into her skin tighter than ever. Driving into her as forcefully as he begun to, her loud cries became softer moans as she began to welcome his intrusion.

Her back gracefully arched for him and he found his fingernails, however short they were, trail ribbons of red from her lower back to the spot where his manhood was currently claiming her body like unmarked land.

He felt the convulsions of her muscles betraying her needs and savored the tightening of her walls against him, but it wasn't until he really pulled on the belt straps so much so that they caused a tiny bit of blood to trickle down that he lost all constraint and let it all go inside of her with a few quick but deep thrusts. He pulled out and let both of their fluids trickle slowly down her leg as they both struggled to regain their breath.

He unclasped the belt around her wrists and let her arms fall freely to the desk as they tried to gain support of anything at all. After standing there for a full minute redressing themselves, he turned to her in a casual manner and said, "You're dismissed," in a bored voice as if none of this had happened.

She furrowed her brows in confusion and was about to say something when she thought better of it. He was not the type to cuddle with after an intimate moment. Nor did she expect him to be. What she was hoping for however was some sign that this was not to affect their relationship in the future. She still wanted to be ignored when he was in a temper tantrum. She still wanted to be the one person he could rely on to be unbiased and accurate. The last thing she wanted to be seen as a sex slave that always said yes.

She was just about to leave his office in a state of regret when she suddenly heard him say, "I expect you to visit my tailor more often," from behind her. She couldn't help but grin slightly at his new command, knowing it would means all sorts of new fun additions to her old job.


End file.
